The Harvest
Before the Great Awakening, I started every day the same. I woke up, leaned over and kissed the tiny forehead of my 4-year-old daughter. I breathed her in, trying to hold onto that moment for as long as possible, forever, if only “forever” existed. When I got out of bed, I’d do the same thing I did every morning. Sit in the dark living room, trying to be as quiet as I could to get as much alone time as possible. But I wouldn’t be alone. I was never totally alone. Since the birth of my child, I had a constant companion. One that lingered quietly, at times, and screamed so loud it blocked out all happiness others. Death.
Death was now with me at every moment. Possibly hiding around every corner. In every oversized bite. In every fall. On every street we crossed. On every highway we drove. Just waiting, as death does. Until it was done waiting and it would come calling for one of us. And our beautiful love story would be over.
At least that’s what I thought back then. Some days I long to be that ignorant again. I close my eyes and try to image the vast dark, the quiet, the void I once believed death to be. But now I know. We all know. It isn’t that. The whole time, death was a lie, a fabrication. Still a thief, but not a void. Not rest. And now that we know, we call death by a new name.
We now know that none of our loved ones “died.” At least not when we thought they did. They were stolen. Harvested.